


a debt brought back from the wars

by emollience, rushvalleys



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-War, Eventual Happy Ending, Exes to Lovers, F/F, Future Fic, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 06:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21049550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emollience/pseuds/emollience, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rushvalleys/pseuds/rushvalleys
Summary: Catra wants her, more than anything. She wants nothing more than to love and be loved by Adora, wants nothing more than to bottle up the warmth that blossoms inside her when Adora looks at her like this and tuck it away somewhere safe and hidden, to keep it with her always.She loves her. She wishes she knew how to say it. Wishes she knew how to keep her here forever.*when everything should work out after the war, and then doesn’t.





	a debt brought back from the wars

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes writing she ra fanfiction gets you a gf and sometimes to bond the two of u go “hey maybe we should write a nice oneshot” but you’re both the Most Dramatic libra moons in existence and it turns into a 2 chapter project instead 
> 
> enjoy the lesbian drama labeled “adora is a libra moon and catra is a libra venus and neither of them learned communication skills bc of trauma”
> 
> note: for the time periods “F.S.” stands for “first settlement”

C: If I could be free of you without having to lose you.  
A: Sometimes that’s not possible.

— **Sarah Kane**, from “Crave”

Sometimes, when I see / you in a crowd, and I pretend / not to, I remember the way you / looked the last night I saw you / and you said in another life / we would be happy. And I said / in another life we would be free from one another’s ghosts.

— **Chloe N. Clark** , from “The Double Dark Theory of Our Universe,” published in _ Pidgeonholes _

(summer, 1024 F.S.)

Adora turns a corner one morning and runs into Catra. 

That in of itself isn’t surprising. Relations between Bright Moon and Halfmoon are well established despite the friction between Glimmer and Catra. Adora knows that Catra travels back and forth between the two often, sometimes for official business, sometimes to sit with Micah and catch up. 

In the past few months, though, Adora hasn’t seen her once. Partly her fault, partly Catra’s. She couldn’t tell you how to evenly split the blame. 

Catra blinks up at Adora, slow and languid. Her hair’s clipped back. They stop in the middle of the empty hall, Catra cradling some files to her chest, Adora still red and sweaty from having worked out in the training grounds. She wishes she’d stopped to shower before trying to find Bow. 

“Hey,” she manages. 

Catra lifts her mouth in a smile. “Hey, Adora,” she says, none of the typical lilt to it. She steps around her. She continues down the hall and looks over her shoulder, that same forced curve of the lips still on her face. “I’ll see you around.” 

Despite the dismissal, Adora remains rooted to her spot. She watches Catra turn a different corner, possibly to the throne room. She forces herself to move the opposite direction rather than follow after Catra, no matter how badly she aches to. 

When she finds Bow in the kitchens she can’t stop the way she plops in the seat next to him and hides her face in her hands. She groans, the sound long and drawn out. 

“Uh,” Bow starts, “you okay there?” 

“No,” she says. “Can I tell you something?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(summer, 1024 F.S.)

It was supposed to be easier, after the war. The Princess Alliance found its footing. The Kingdoms declared independence from the Horde. The territory once known as the Fright Zone was reclaimed by Scorpia’s people and they declared a democracy modeled after Halfmoon’s. 

The politics of it all still send Catra reeling. It’s not exactly easier. She likes it, though. Thrives under the pressure. Enjoys holding everyone’s attention, knowing that the solutions she’s helped come up with will work, and if others disagree she can spin it until they see her way. 

Adora, though — 

It would be easier if Adora weren’t Adora. Regardless of the months stretched in silence between them Adora still manages to catch Catra’s attention even in a room as packed as this one. She’s across the table, chatting with Spinnerella. She looks good. Her hair sits long and loose around her shoulders, and she’s rosy-cheeked probably from training earlier or her shower. 

When she glances Catra’s way Catra looks down at the files directly in front of her and frowns. Her cheeks burn. Stupid of her, really. 

The meeting starts and Catra listens as best she can. She sits with her chin in hand. She makes sure to insert a comment when best fitting and barter for better trade between Salineas and Halfmoon when she gets the chance. She prods at Glimmer. She gives a brief speech about the importance of rehabilitation and fair treatment for former Horde soldiers. She doesn’t allow herself a single glance in Adora’s direction. 

After, when the meeting is adjourned and the princesses and other ambassadors linger to converse, she gathers her belongings and stands to leave, except a pale hand extends a sheet of paper towards her. She looks up. Adora smiles back at her. 

“You almost left this,” she says. 

Catra snatches it from her grip. “Thanks.”

They stand far apart. Around them, the room continues in its state of disarray and conversation. Catra could smile when it was just a brief encounter in the hall, when she could walk away before her heartbeat threatened to choke whatever words she might say. Four months and two weeks, she thinks, since they last saw each other. She wonders when she’ll stop counting the space between them. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Adora says. “It’s been a while.” 

Catra stays quiet; watches the way moonlight catches Adora’s hair as it streams through the open windows. Adora stops. She hesitates. Her nose crinkles the way it always does when she thinks too hard. It it were any other time Catra would grin and quip something teasing like, _ you look stupid, _ or _ don’t strain yourself too hard _. She holds her tongue. 

“I, uh, hope you enjoy your visit.” Adora tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She glances off to the side where Bow and Glimmer wait for her at the entrance. Catra raises a brow at them and they both look away as if they hadn’t been intently watching. 

“I appreciate it,” she says, finally. 

Adora grants Catra a small smile. She steps away and then stops. Her brow furrows just she opens her mouth to say something. She closes it shut. She nods at Catra and walks away, steps brisk. 

It’s not until she’s out the room that Catra forces herself to close her eyes and exhale.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(summer, 1022 F.S.) 

“This is new,” says Adora. She traces a long, jagged white line across the left side of Catra’s ribs. 

Catra scowls. “Not really.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Do I?” 

Adora sighs. She rests her palm on Catra’s waist, fingers splayed over her skin. “Fine, don’t tell me,” she says. “I’ll just leave and not bring you back any breakfast.” 

“That’s extortion,” Catra replies. She rolls over onto her back and slings an arm over her eyes. Her hair splays loose and messy over the pillow. “It’s probably from one of our fights. I don’t really remember.” 

Adora forgets, sometimes, that not everyone heals as quickly as her. She scowls and draws her hand away, propping herself up on an elbow. It’s still odd to see Catra in her Bright Moon bedroom, to reconcile the fact with what she’s wanted for so long. Even stranger still to chart the new scars on her body and take stock of the way the years changed them both. 

“Oh,” she says, finally, voice quiet. 

Catra shifts her arm enough to reveal one eye. She frowns. “Don’t,” she says. “We were at war, Adora. It happens.” Before Adora can open her mouth, she sits up and gives her a look. “Do you really wanna talk about this when we could be doing literally anything else? Like breakfast? Or —” She raises an eyebrow. 

_ “Catra!” _

“What? I leave tomorrow.” 

_ You could stay, _ Adora almost says. The irony doesn’t escape her. She rises to dress instead, pulling on the first shirt she finds from her drawer. “Breakfast, I guess,” she says, as she finishes dressing. “I can’t just stay in bed all day. I have plans with Glimmer later.”

“Ew.”

“She’s basically your sister.” 

“Ew, Adora,” Catra says. “Don’t call her that.” 

“Whatever, Catra,” she replies. She bends down to pick up Catra’s shirt and throws it at her. It hits her square in the face. “C’mon. You know Mermista always goes for the good pancakes if she’s early.” 

Catra snorts, pulling the shirt off her face. She gets up and stretches, and Adora looks away, face burning red. 

“What if you stayed an extra day?” she manages. With her back to Catra, it’s easier. She sits on the floor and starts to put on her socks. “I’m sure Micah would like that.” 

A heavy pause follows. Adora can’t turn, not yet. And then: “I can’t,” Catra replies. “I have to be in Plumeria by tomorrow.” 

A hand settles on her shoulder. Adora looks up and finds Catra staring down at her, eyebrows furrowed. A part of her wants to ask again, the part of her that lets this happen every time. She shrugs off the hand and makes her way to the door. 

“It’s fine. Forget I said anything.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


(summer, 1024 F.S.)

In the following days, Catra pretends not to notice Adora. The meetings are shorter than usual, nothing more than renegotiations and ensuring that all the treaties still stand. Through them all, Adora sits far from Catra, as though keeping the space between them measured. Whenever she glances Catra’s way, Catra makes sure to avert her gaze. 

If Catra hates Adora for anything it’s for how easily she fractures at just the mere sight of her. It had been her falling, back during the war. Even now, after all this time, she fights against the growing need to be near her, to fall back into her orbit. 

The only relief lies in the fact Adora doesn’t approach her again. She sits in on the meetings, just as she should, and only voices her opinion when called for. That little wrinkle between her brow makes an appearance early on in the week and stays. Adora has never been one for politics or sitting still. In the evenings, when Catra wanders the castle after dinner with Micah or any of the princesses or Bow, she catches Adora out in the courtyard training either by herself or with any of the guards. The easy smile on her face even as she pants and sweats with a red face marks a stark contrast to the way she folds in on herself in the war room. 

There used to be a time Catra never hesitated to step out and join her; to grab one of the staffs and smirk in a challenge, heart already racing by the time Adora smiled back. Catra wishes she could call it a simpler time, except it never was. Planetary peace could only heal so much, apparently. 

She starts taking a different path back to her room in the evenings. 

Tonight, after an evening sitting in the kitchens sharing a bottle of some fancy drink stolen from Glimmer’s room with Mermista, Catra pads down the hall towards her room. It’s a longer route than it would be if she had just cut through the throne room, but she doesn’t mind it, content to take her time and enjoy the quiet after a day of talking in circles. 

She’s almost to her room when she catches sight of Adora turning a corner, face pink and hair wet, a towel slung over her shoulders. She considers turning back and running the opposite direction, but Adora meets her eyes and stiffens, her mouth going slack. 

“Oh,” Adora says. “Uh, hi.” She does a little wave and then grasps at both ends of the towel. 

“Hi,” Catra says. She scowls. She’s still warm, her head the slightest bit fuzzy from the drinks. She crosses her arms. “Thought you were ignoring me, princess.” 

Adora blinks, wide-eyed and earnest. Catra hates her. She hates the way her heart lurches. “I wasn’t.” 

“Funny way of showing it.” 

“I was just — I was just giving you space, Catra.”

She exhales through her nose. She averts her gaze; looks to the nearest window overlooking the moat and the night sky glittering with stars. “Space,” she echoes. “Didn’t know I needed that. Then again, you always know what I need, don’t you?” 

Calloused fingertips brush against her wrist. She stills. When she finally turns, she meets Adora’s eyes. Even after all this time, she looks at her like she can sift through every thought in her head. 

“Catra,” Adora says. She stops. Her cheek hollows, probably from gnawing at the inside, as if considering her next words. Catra wants to smooth the crease between her brows. She wants to run her fingers through her hair and tug her close. She wants to reach out, relearn all the ways she’s changed since she’s been with her last. 

Catra wants —

It doesn’t matter. 

She tears her wrist away from Adora’s grasp and cradles it to her chest. She steps around Adora, head down, and hurries down the hall without another word. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(spring, 1022 F.S.)

Despite herself, Adora isn’t the most complicated part of a trip back to Bright Moon: she holds a close second to the queen herself, a skilled and passionate diplomat when she needs to be, a petulant brat who’s too nosy for her own good when she wants to be.

Glimmer and Catra find themselves diametrically opposed approximately once every other week, when Micah forces their makeshift family together for a “bonding” dinner which is almost guaranteed to end with the two of them at each other’s throats. But Micah means well, and Catra’s never had someone consider her family before—not in any way that matters.

Tonight is no different. Micah sits at the head of the table, Glimmer staring Catra down with narrowed violet eyes. Her hair is pushed away from her forehead by a golden crown. 

“Nice crown.” Catra considers her for a moment. “You’ve got a huge forehead. You know that, right?”

“Shut up,” Glimmer snaps back. 

“Is that, like, a requirement for being a princess? Having a ridiculously big forehead?”

Glimmer braces herself on the table, hands gripping its side as she leans forward. “I’m gonna—“

“Speaking of princesses,” Micah intervenes, clearing his throat. “Adora was looking for you last night. Something about unfinished documents that needed to get signed?”

Glimmer snorts.

“Shut it, Sparkles.” Catra glares across the table in warning. 

“So,” Glimmer drawls, “you two signed some documents together.”

“Yes.”

“What for? What types of documents did you and Adora sign? Together? Alone?”

“I—they were—hey, Glimmer, how’s Bow doing?”

“Catra!” Glimmer shrieks, then turns to Micah. “Dad, nothing is going on with me and Bow.”

“What?” Catra raises an eyebrow. “You don’t want to sign any documents with him?”

“Dad—”

Micah clears his throat again, hanging his head and nodding slowly like he’s just processed the euphemism. When he looks back up, his face is paler than before.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’ve heard the Alliance is quite proud of you, Catra. Halfmoon is doing well.”

“Yeah.” Catra’s ears perk upward. “I’ve kind of taken charge of making sure our trade deals hold up, so I’ll be traveling. Probably be around here a lot less. It’ll be…” Catra trails off as she notices how intently Glimmer is watching her. She eyes Catra with a scowl, as if she’s dissecting every word of Catra’s to use against her later. “It’ll be interesting. I’ll miss coming for dinners, though.”

“And we’ll miss you,” Micah replies.

“Aw, Glimmer,” Catra coos. “You’ll miss me? That’s so sweet.”

“Shut up.”

Dinner continues; Catra and Glimmer keep their bickering to a minimum, Catra keeps the conversation with Micah light. Catra follows Glimmer through the hallway as they leave the dining room and taps her on the shoulder once she’s caught up to her.

“What?” Glimmer asks with a scowl. “Adora’s room is the other way.”

“I know that,” Catra says. “Anyway, we’ve never set ground rules about these dinner things, so here they are: whatever happens at dinner stays there. Okay?”

“You’re afraid I’m gonna tell Adora you’re not coming back.”

“I—look. I’m gonna tell her,” Catra says. “I just want it to come from me first.” She covers her forehead with her hand, massaging her temple with her thumb. “So. You let me update Micah every couple of weeks, and you mind your business and keep your mouth shut.”

Glimmer frowns back at her. “Sure. Whatever. Just...stop making things so weird at dinner. I think we scarred Dad forever tonight.”

“Oh, Glimmer,” Catra’s lips twist into a smile, “you know I’m not gonna do that. Anyway, I’m off to go sign some documents.” Catra turns to walk, but says over her shoulder: “Have a good night, Sparkles.”

Catra grins, satisfied when she hears Glimmer groan in response. Glimmer walks off to her room. Catra walks the other way.

  
  
  
  
  


(summer, 1024 F.S.) 

“I’m going to kill her one day.” 

Bow continues tinkering with an arrow. “That’s treason.” 

Catra shoots him a look. “Shut up.” 

“Just making a point,” he says. He puts down the arrow and turns to her, crossing his legs and holding his ankles as he leans forward attentively. “Also, Micah would never forgive you. He’ll be disappointed.” 

“I said shut up.” 

“There’s nothing worse than parental disappointment, Catra,” he continues, voice grave. “It’s why I used to run around the Whispering Woods like a feral child instead of telling my dads I was a part of the Rebellion.” 

“In your defense, it _ is _ embarrassing to be a part of anything Glimmer’s involved in.” 

He throws a pillow at her. It hits her right in the face, and she squeals and laughs as she flings it back at him. 

“Why are you killing Glimmer this time?” he asks. He clutches the pillow to his chest, still sitting on the floor instead of joining Catra on the daybed by the window. 

“Like you don’t know,” she replies. 

“Surprise me.” 

She rolls her eyes. “I should be home, in _ my _ bed, in _ my _ apartment already. Instead I’m stuck here with a bunch of princesses arguing over the value of grain.” 

“Don’t forget livestock.” 

“Thanks, Bow,” she deadpans. “Whatever would I do without you?” 

“Look, you know how these things go. You’re all going to keep arguing in circles until no one’s happy and then call it a day. That’s just politics.” 

“I know. It’s still annoying when your girlfriend is on my ass every second of the day.” 

“She’s not — You know she isn’t —” Bow sputters, face flushed. He stops. He drags a hand down his face and collects himself before saying, “If you’re getting claustrophobic, we can visit my dads tomorrow. Take a bit of a break so you don’t start another war.” 

She perks up. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, it’ll be nice. I’ve been meaning to visit anyways and they like you so might as well.” 

“What about the rest of the sparkle club?” 

“Best friend squad,” he corrects. “And I would invite them but…” he tapers off with a wave of the hand. Catra raises an eyebrow. “Wasn’t the whole point of this to get you away from Glimmer?” 

She nods. 

“And you and Adora are still…going through whatever it is you’re doing now, so I’m not about to invite her. Even though my dads love her too...and they haven't seen each other for a while...” 

She narrows her eyes. “You want to invite Adora?”

“It’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Maybe you two could actually talk and, y’know, try to get along?”

“We get along just fine, Bow,” she says. 

“You two ignore each other,” he throws back. He pushes himself up and plops down next to her on the daybed. When Catra scowls at him, he grabs her legs and drags her closer, letting them drape over his lap. “C’mon. Try? For me? I miss our wine nights.” 

She crosses her arms. “I’m not enough for wine nights?” 

“You know that’s not what I mean. And I know you miss her too. You guys were friends before this. Just...try, okay?” 

The underside of her wrist feels warm, even now. She flattens her mouth into a tight line and exhales through her nose, but Bow pouts back at her. 

“Invite her,” she says. His face breaks out into a blinding grin and he reaches forward, grabbing her hands, already rambling about everything they’ll do when they get to his dads’ library. She lets him; forces a smile on her face. 

“If it gets too bad,” he continues, “you tell me and we can all leave separately. We’ll come up with a contingency plan, okay?” 

“Okay,” she says. Her gut coils in a tight knot. “Contingency plan. I can do that.” 

  
  
  
  
  


(summer, 1024 F.S.) 

The trip to Lance and George’s library hinges entirely on Bow filling the silence, they all learn early on. He keeps a steady stream of conversation going as he leads them through the Whispering Woods, always careful to steer clear of anything too controversial, always precise enough to try to engage them both. Without noticing Adora and Catra seem to have agreed to take turns; to talk through Bow instead of with each other. In the beginning Adora doesn’t mind. She gets it, really. She remembers the way Catra ducked her head and ran off last they talked and doesn’t know if she can stand to have that happen again. So she lets it happen and talks to Bow, and only Bow. 

By the time they make it to the library, though, Adora itches to walk away from the entire ordeal. She doesn’t know how much longer she can deal with a pretense of resolution. The days of passive aggression were bad enough, even if she gets why they happened. She lingers in the back as Lance and George lead them all through the new wing of the library, barely listening to the excited back-and-forth of questions and answers, already mapping out how long until they can disperse to their individual rooms for the night. 

“We have an entirely new collection on past She-Ras,” George points out, grinning right at her. Adora forces a smile in response, and he continues, “So much of it is deteriorated that it’s difficult to decipher, but if you want to take a look at any point —” 

“Actually,” she says, pointedly not looking at Bow who raises an eyebrow, “I could start now if that’s alright?” 

“Oh. Are you sure? You must be tired from the trek here. It’s fine if you wanted to rest for a bit before,” says Lance. 

She shrugs. “I’m not that tired. I don’t mind starting now. Anything to help your research, right?” 

They leave her in that wing alone save a number of texts and scrolls that even she squints at. At some point Bow brings her dinner and chats with her for a bit until he heads off to bed, and then she’s back to working through the new collection, jotting down notes when she can. Were it anything else she thinks she might’ve lost interest hours ago, but knowing about past She-Ras, not just Mara, still loosens that anxious tightening in her chest. 

She’s working through her fifth tome when a pair of footsteps echo down the hall. “I’ll go to sleep in a bit, Bow,” she says, still squinting at the nearly incomprehensible First Ones’ writing. “I’m not tired yet.” 

“You’ll definitely need glasses if you keep doing that, though.” 

Adora’s head snaps up. At the entrance, Catra stands with her arms crossed, face utterly unreadable. She’s in her sleeping clothes: a large, dark sweater with sleeves pushed up to her elbows and shorts. She steps into the room, coming to a stop by Adora’s nest of books and scrolls on the floor, and crinkles her nose. 

“Can She-Ra even get bad eyesight?” she continues, as if this were an everyday conversation between them. “What if you needed glasses but She-Ra didn’t? Would they disappear every time you transform?” 

“Catra,” says Adora, a hand rubbing at her forehead. “What are you doing here?” 

“Engaging in some friendly academic discussion, obviously.” 

“After ignoring me for nearly two weeks?”

Catra shoots her a look. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly start that, did I?” 

Adora’s face warms. She looks away from Catra, down to the book at hand. “Bow told me you agreed to invite me,” she says quietly. She traces a finger over the faded script on page. “I figured he was just being nice.” 

“He was. But — He was right.” A few pages rustle as Catra takes a seat on the floor in front of her. Adora watches as she starts to stack a few books together. “We can’t put him in the middle of our bullshit, y’know?”

She tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “So...truce, then?” 

Catra smiles, and Adora ignores the way her chest tightens at the sight of it. “Yeah. We can...try being friends. For Bow.” 

That should be enough. Yet, somehow, Adora can’t stop herself from saying, “Just for Bow?” 

Catra shrugs. She fiddles with the end of one sleeve, staring down at the fabric. “It’s a start, right? I’m willing to try if you are, and we can work from there, I guess.” 

“Yeah,” Adora finds herself saying. She closes her book and lays a hand on the supple leather. After this, she tells herself, she’ll trudge her way to the kitchen, make herself some tea. She’ll try not to dissect every word from Catra’s mouth, every look and twitch of the ear. It’s a start. She’ll take what she can. “Friends, then?”

“Friends,” Catra says. She tugs the sleeve over her knuckles; nods, as if punctuating the word. 

  
  
  
  
  


(winter, 1021 F.S.) 

“You should come to Halfmoon,” Catra says one morning. She burrows her face against the column of Adora’s neck. Their legs tangle together. “You’d like it, I think.” 

Adora tightens her arm around Catra’s shoulders. Catra feels her sleepy hum more than she hears it. “Maybe,” she replies. She nuzzles her cheek against the top of Catra’s head. “When things get less hectic.” 

“You mean when Sparkles doesn’t need you and Bow holding her hand?”

Adora folds the tip of Catra’s ear. “Don’t be mean.” 

“Me? I’m never mean.”

Adora’s chest shakes from the rumble of her laugh. She buries her face in Catra’s hair and holds her close, both arms wrapped her this time, and then she rolls them over so that Catra’s flat on her back and she’s leaning over her, golden hair a curtain, her smile radiant. 

“You’re right,” she laughs. “You’ve never been mean in your life, let alone to Glimmer.” 

The corner of Catra’s mouth twitches. “I’ve never been anything but sweet.”

“I’m sorry for spreading such an awful lie.” 

“You should be. That’s slander, Adora. I could sue you.”

“Good luck filing a lawsuit against She-Ra.” 

Catra pokes at the center of Adora’s chest. “I can’t believe you’d abuse your power like that.” 

Adora shrugs. “There’s perks to saving the world.” 

“Is there?” 

“I get a lot of free stuff.” 

“That explains all the chocolates,” Catra says. 

“I have a sweet tooth,” Adora replies. 

“Go on. Seriously. Can’t wait to leak it to the public that the legendary She-Ra uses her influence to get free stuff. Everyone will be heartbroken over who their hero really is.”

“You’re right,” Adora says very seriously. She tugs on a lock of Catra’s hair. “I’m the bad guy here. You’re the saint.” 

“You’re getting it now, princess.” 

Adora grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, face bright. That smile — Catra doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of it. She’s fought a war all for that smile. “You’re exhausting. You know that, right?” 

“Maybe,” she says. “But you like that about me.” 

“Maybe,” Adora says. She cups Catra’s jaw, runs a thumb over her cheek. Catra leans into her touch with a soft exhale, and Adora’s eyes soften. “I’ll try to visit. I want to. It’s just...hard right now with all the reparations.”

Catra frowns. She glances off to the side, away from Adora’s open face. “Taking a little vacation could be a perk too.” 

A pause. Adora’s thumb stills, her hand going slack against Catra’s face. She pushes herself up so that she’s sitting on her haunches. “I...wish it could be. But you know I can’t just —” 

“I know,” Catra says. “I was — Forget it. It’s fine.” 

Adora still stares at her like she knows too much, with a clarity that Catra wants to claw away. Like this, still warm with her touch, the first rise of the second moon streaming through the open windows of Adora’s room, Catra’s chest aches in too familiar of a way. 

She could lie back and dissect it; could finally voice what she wants — who she wants out loud, open up about all the ways she wants to keep Adora, but she swallows the words back. Instead, she rises on her knees and grips the front of Adora’s shirt, dragging her close until their noses brush. She cradles her face and leans over her, pressing a kiss to the cut of her jaw. Adora’s breath hitches. 

“It’s fine, okay?” she says. 

Adora grips her waist. She opens her mouth, probably to say something, anything to continue the conversation. Catra slots their lips together before she can. The hold on her waist tightens, and Adora pulls her close, a soft sound escaping her, and Catra’s heart flutters, and thuds, and threatens to choke her. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


(fall, 1024 F.S.)

It’s dark when Adora leaves her room, and darker when she walks through the hallway. When she sees a figure facing away from the kitchen light, shrouded in shadow, she shrieks.

Part of her expects it to turn around and glare at her with red, burning eyes. It doesn’t, though. The figure jumps and shrieks in turn.

“_ Adora _!”

Catra pivots to face her, eyes blown wide. Adora’s hand clutches her heart.

“Sorry,” she pants. “I thought you were—”

“What, the monster in the cupboards? The one that lived back in the Fright Zone?” Catra snorts. “You know, they only told us that so we wouldn’t sneak off into the kitchens.”

“And we did, anyway.”

“I did,” Catra says. “You were always too chicken.”

“Maybe I just liked following rules.”

“Maybe you were the lamest person alive.”

“Maybe.” Adora shrugs. “Why are you up?”

Catra tilts her head and looks to the stove. A burner is on, a kettle whistling steam on top of it. “Couldn’t sleep. I boiled enough for two cups, if you want,” Catra offers. 

“I’d like that.”

Adora turns on a light in the dining room, and Catra eventually settles next to her with two mugs. She takes a sip of hers. It’s sweet, how Adora likes it but different than Catra usually takes her tea—if she knows anything about Catra anymore, that is. She frowns down at her mug.

“Relax,” Catra says. “I didn’t poison it or anything.”

“No, it’s not that,” Adora replies. “I didn’t think you liked it sweet.”

“I don’t.” Catra takes a sip from her own mug. “Unlike you, I have taste.”

Adora offers her a tight-lipped smile and leaves it at that. She folds her arms across her chest, stifling a yawn. Catra sits with the heel of her hand propping up her chin, staring off idly into the distance. She looks similarly battered. Her eyes are puffy and drooping like she hasn’t gotten any rest at all. Adora can guess why.

“I still get dreams, too, you know,” Adora says softly.

Catra’s head snaps toward her with a grimace. It’s still in her nature to get defensive, Adora knows, but as soon as a glimpse of self-preserving anger flashes through Catra’s features, it leaves. She acquiesces, shrugs down her shoulders.

“They don’t ever go away, do they?”

“Maybe with years of therapy,” Adora says with a grim laugh. “I’m not quite there yet. Uh, what about you?”

“You don’t just ask people if they’re in therapy, Adora.”

“No,” Adora says. “I mean, how are you doing? You know, with…” Her voice trails off. Even now, so many years removed, Adora will feel pangs of remembrance overtake her at random. They’ll creep into her dreams, steal her sleep. She’ll remember the cold, the harsh fluorescents, a home that never should have been home and the only trace of comfort she kept which stares back at her now, fully grown and far removed from the Fright Zone.

“I’m okay, I think.” Catra’s eyes shine in the dark, still unreadable. “Hard to know, really.”

“What, the extent to which we’re messed up?”

“Yeah,” Catra nods. “Sometimes everything is normal, and then sometimes for no reason at all I’ll be eating dinner and remember we weren’t given solid food for our whole childhood. And then I just get mad about it all over.” Catra crinkles her nose. “For the record, I am. In therapy, I mean.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it? I mean, it is. I know it is. But don’t you wish we could go one day without being reminded of how fucked up we both are?”

Adora looks down into her mug. “I got a cold once and hid in my room for two full days. I went into full ‘show no weakness’ mode. And that was like, last year.” Adora pouts, chews over her words. She’s not good with expressing herself, this she knows. She’s not skilled in conversation like Catra. She can’t finesse her thoughts into something less intense; she only knows how to say what she’s feeling when she’s feeling it. “You know, you’re the only one I can talk about the Horde with. It gets hard when we act like we hate each other.”

“I don’t hate you,” Catra says, maybe a little too quick. Maybe a little too defensively. She bites her lip. “I just—I just hate still feeling like I depend on you.”

“I know you don’t,” Adora answers. “I know you’re doing well on your own.”

Catra pauses. “Adora, look—” She stops herself again. She takes a breath, her ears slanting downward. “You’re the only person I can talk about this stuff with, too.”

“Not even Scorpia?”

“She gets all ‘pity party’ about it,” Catra answers. “Tries too hard to make me feel better about it all.”

“Yeah, I prefer to wallow in our shared misery.”

“And I’ve always appreciated that about you.” Catra offers her one last rueful smile before standing and extending a hand toward Adora. Adora hands her her empty mug. “Stupid,” Catra says as she turns toward the kitchen. “We’re full grown adults and we still need each other.”

Here Adora could say so many things—that she still wishes things could be different, that they share too much between them to ever completely let go of each other, that they’d only ever known each other before they’d had the chance to process that they’d shared a love borne purely out of survival. That maybe, with the therapy visits and the time apart and the years they’ve aged, there’s something between them worth salvaging. That she’s more than happy to stay up with Catra through the tough nights like tonight, just like when they were children sharing a bunk, soothing each other from their nightmares.

She doesn’t say any of that. Instead, she simply says: “We can’t help it. It’s how we were raised.”

“Saying we were ‘raised’ at all is doing Shadow Weaver too many favors.”

“You know what I mean.”

Catra turns to her, not quite smiling but not quite frowning. She disappears into the hallway, throwing a “goodnight” over her shoulder.

She marks the irony—she doesn’t know when Catra became the one that left and Adora became the one who wished she would stay.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(winter, 1024 F.S.)

The chamber hall is a cacophony of sound, and Adora has decided she’s had enough.

In times of peace, Plumeria is known for its celebration of the harvest, of its extravagant balls thrown every few years to celebrate an especially fruitful season. In the few years after the war, this year’s was the first worth celebrating, apparently, and as an Alliance member Adora is expected to make appearances, to show up and smile and wave at the correct people and to not ruffle any feathers of the Plumerian court’s members.

But it’s been hours now, and she’s tired. Her feet ache, her face feels worn and long, and she’s spent too long trading idle pleasantries while her friends are paired off together on the dance floor. She tried dancing with Bow and Glimmer on separate occasions earlier, but she kept stepping on Glimmer’s toes and twirled Bow so hard he nearly toppled over. They’re together now, though, spinning in each others’ arms and laughing. 

She watches from her spot on the ground, chin in both hands. This far out in the sidelines no one really bothers her. Mermista and Sea Hawk are by the bar, talking in harsh, small voices, and Perfuma is on the dance floor with a confused Frosta, trying to show her the steps to some Plumerian dance. 

On the dance floor, Catra twirls around with Scorpia. A few years ago the visual of them in each others’ arms might’ve twisted Adora’s stomach. Now, she idly tracks the way the two of them laugh, the way the lamps lit around the field highlight the blue and gold of Catra’s eyes, the way the ends of her hair brush along her jaw, freshly cut. At one point Catra tries to twirl Scorpia under her arm. It goes as well as expected: Scorpia has to nearly bend all the way back to get undeath Catra’s arm, and even then Catra has to stand on the very tips of her toes. 

The song ends, and Scorpia’s bounding off the dance floor and right into Lonnie’s arms. Catra follows after them. She throws her head back and laughs at something they say, the line of her neck elegant. Adora’s mouth dries. 

As if compelled to, Catra looks in Adora’s direction and meets her stare. She raises an eyebrow. She turns and says something to a now distracted Scorpia and Lonnie before walking off, hands in the pockets of her dark pants. 

She stops right before Adora and crouches, elbows settled on her knees. 

“Tired, princess?” 

Adora bites back a smile. “A little.” She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. “Shouldn’t you get back out there?” 

Catra sighs as she runs a hand downward from the crown of Adora’s head, stroking the golden threads of hair and letting them catch the underside of her claws. Adora’s breath hitches. 

“You’re so stupid,” says Catra. “You really think I’d just let you stay out here by yourself?”

There once was a rule held holy between them: _ you look out for me, I look out for you. _It sits between them now, unspoken but loud somehow, reverberating everywhere. She’d never believe as a young child how far that promise spread, how many times it was broken, how many times it’s led Adora back to where she sits right now, on the ground with Catra hunched over her, looking on in concern.

“You asking me to dance, then?” Adora asks. 

Catra offers a hand. “Old time’s sake, right?” 

Adora takes it. She smiles. “As long as you don’t blow anything up.” 

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Catra pulls Adora up and leads her to the dance floor, fingers wrapped around Adora’s wrist. She turns and brings Adora’s hand up, interlocking their fingers right as she grips Adora’s waist with her free hand and draws her close. “It was years ago, Adora.” 

“It made for a really unforgettable first ball,” Adora says, hand coming to rest on Catra’s shoulder. “The next one’s coming up in a bit. Too bad you can’t have Scorpia on your arm this time.” 

Catra’s tail flicks out behind her. “Pretty sure she’ll be on Lonnie’s.” 

“They’re sweet together.” 

“Disgustingly.” 

“Aw, come on. You know you like them.” 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still think they’re gross.” 

Adora opens her mouth to retort when a body pushes against her own. She stumbles against Catra with a yelp. Someone who sounds strikingly like a laughing Netossa yells, “Sorry!” but Adora pays little mind, suddenly pressed up against Catra, closer than she’s been in months. 

Catra’s eyes are intent on Adora’s face. Adora can see her racing pulse at the dip of her neck, her only break in composure. She all but flings Adora to a spin and pulls her back in, leaving a breadth of space between them. 

“You haven’t visited Halfmoon in a while,” she says. 

Even through the fabric of Adora’s dress, Catra’s hand is warm. “You haven’t visited Bright Moon in a while.” 

“It’s been, like, two months,” she says. “Some people have jobs other than sitting around looking pretty, princess.” 

“I have a job!” 

“You’re right. I forgot how tiring punching stuff must get.” 

“About as tiring as constantly terrorizing queens.” 

The corner of Catra’s mouth twitches up. “That’s just a hobby.” 

‘I’ll let the Queen of Bright Moon know that giving her gray hairs is just a recreational activity.” 

“I thought it was She-Ra’s job to keep the peace.” 

“I get bored sometimes.” 

“So you’ll risk another war for a bit of excitement?”

“Maybe it’ll give me an excuse to see you more,” Adora says, heart beating violent, fast. She spins Catra under her arm this time and then pulls her close.

Here, Catra’s gaze darts away. Her claws dig into Adora’s waist and Adora bites back a hiss. “Don’t do anything stupid on my behalf.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she responds. 

Catra looks at her. Adora feels like she misstepped somewhere; lost her footing in the midst of trying to keep that smile on her face. She doesn’t know when she unlearned Catra. All she knows is that every time they meet again she has to relearn how to navigate her. 

The song ends and Catra lets Adora go. Her face is flushed and pink. Her hair frizzes in the heat, a brown lock sticking to her cheek. Adora’s fingers itch to brush it away. Catra takes a step back, expression unreadable. 

“It was nice seeing you again,” is all she offers before she briskly walks away, hands stuffed in the pockets of her trousers. 

Adora stands in the center of the dance floor, heartbeat thudding hot and loud in her ears and throat. She stares at Catra’s retreating back until she can’t find her in the crowd. She can vaguely make out familiar voices arguing in the background, but she pays no mind as she tries to step around the dancing couples. 

A hand grasps her arm. Adora jumps. 

Glimmer stares back at her, an eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?” 

She can still feel where Catra had touched her. Her skin feels cold now without that point of contact. “I’m fine,” she says. She glances off to where Catra had disappeared. “Can we go home?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(summer, 1021 F.S.) 

There’s a party, after. Of course there is. Considering her experiences with corrupted swords and infected She-Ra states you’d think Adora would avoid even a drop of alcohol, but she holds a glass of some sparkling blue drink as she wanders the ballroom. She’s careful to take only small, measured drinks, too wary of the way her brain goes fuzzy and hazy so quick. Despite that, everyone around her grows blurry throughout the night. She recognizes the faces of her friends, the other princesses, even old enemies that switched sides at the most pivotal moments, the ones that really counted. Everyone here, accounted for, celebrating the return of the stars and freedom from the Horde and its real leader. 

Across the room Catra stands crystal clear. She wears a dark blue salwar kameez, the collar buttoned all the way up to her neck, the entire outfit loose on her frame. She looks more comfortable than she has her entire life. Calmer, more at ease. Her hair hangs loose, the short blunted ends brushing against her jaw. Her bangs, no longer held back by the solid red headpiece, are tucked easy behind her ears. She sips at her own glass as she leans against a wall. She doesn’t approach anyone. When people stop to speak with her she smiles an easy smile, carries on the conversation, then stays her place when they move on. 

Adora considers crossing the space between them, but something steers her feet everywhere except the area surrounding Catra. They haven’t spoken since they stood over Shadow Weaver’s body on the battlefield, Adora clutching her bleeding side as Catra propped her up; haven’t even really seen each other since they shared a single adrenaline-fueled kiss on a broken field, frantic hands grasping at each other. It’s been a blur of hospital visits, of checking to see who made it, of cleaning up the immediate vicinity. And now — a party, of all things. 

Catra catches Adora’s eye. She is at once familiar and unfamiliar. Adora once thought her the only unchanging and constant in the world before a stolen skiff, a fall in the woods, a sword, and a destiny. She knows now that Catra is no such thing; that she is so utterly different every time they cross paths that even the flicker of a smile on her face is unknowable. She nods her chin towards the exit nearest her and heads out without another look in Adora’s direction. Adora remains rooted, hand clenched around the sweating stem of the glass. 

“Here,” she says, shoving the half-full glass at the nearest person. She vaguely hears Sea Hawk screech, _ “My shirt!” _ but it doesn’t really register. She practically runs after Catra. 

Adora finds Catra staring out a window, arms crossed, at a little alcove several corridors away from the ballroom. Catra’s tail pauses, then resumes swaying from side to side, its tip curling. She looks at Adora over her shoulder and waits until she stands alongside her before she says, “Sparkles really knows how to dress you.” 

A pause. Adora glances down at her white and gold dress, the flat matching boots. “It was Mermista this time, actually.” She looks back at Catra with a shrug. “Apparently everything I chose sucked.” 

“Honestly? I can buy that.” 

Adora smiles. “Like you’re any better.” 

“Oh, Adora, we both know I am,” says Catra. She tilts her head to the side, bangs falling onto her forehead, and Adora has to stop herself from brushing them back. “Are all princess parties like this?” 

“Kinda. This one’s less formal than usual.” 

“This isn’t formal?” 

Adora bites back a laugh. “You didn’t have to learn fifteen different curtsies to greet Glimmer, did you?”

The look Catra gives her borders somewhere between horror and disbelief. “Remind me never to come to another.” 

“Hey, as long as you don’t blow this one up this should count as a success.” 

“I didn’t blow up the last one either,” Catra says. Adora gives her a look and she continues, “That was Scorpia, technically.” 

“Gee, I wonder who told her to do that.” 

“It’s a mystery only the mighty She-Ra could figure out with her trusty sidekicks, Crop Top and Sparkles.” 

“Are you ever going to come up with better nicknames?” Adora asks. “They’re not funny, y’know.” 

Catra presses a hand to her chest. “I’m hilarious.” Her hand falls away and she stops; hesitates. She glances at the scars splicing up Adora’s cheek. “I’m leaving for Halfmoon tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” Adora says. It’s all she can say. Her mind blanks. She blinks at Catra, once, twice. Crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “That’s...soon.” 

“There’s a lot we have to go over. They want me to be an ambassador or something. Keep contact between the alliance and Halfmoon,” Catra says. “So I’ll still, y’know, visit.” Here she pauses and meets Adora’s eyes, the turn of her mouth unsure. A question lingers beneath her words, one Adora knows she won’t voice out loud. 

“We’ll keep a room ready for you,” she answers. “You’ll always be welcome here.” 

The corner of Catra’s mouth twitches up. “That’s a new one.” 

“Yeah, well...” Adora gives into the urge; brushes a stray curl away from Catra’s face. Her hand lingers at Catra’s cheek. “You helped save the world.” 

“Adora,” says Catra. She steps forward and raises her chin. She’s too close. Adora can feel the heat of her breath. Catra says Adora’s name again. She brushes her fingers over the skin of Adora’s throat and Adora leans into her touch. It’s muscle memory. It’s right. Years of fighting against Catra’s touch felt unnatural, wrong. She never wanted to shy away; had always wanted to bend towards Catra and her hands, her mouth. She’s always wanted Catra. 

Catra kisses her first. The first brush of her lips is soft, tentative, barely even a glance, but then she surges forward, a hand resting on Adora’s waist. Adora’s fingers catch in Catra’s hair. They pull each other closer, and Adora’s imagined this in so many ways she could never admit to anyone, let alone herself. Imagined holding Catra again, just like she used to, except without a war, or resentment, or a hint of want wrapped in ugly fear. 

She brings a hand to Catra’s jaw; tries to soften the kiss until Catra digs her claws into Adora’s side. Adora gasps. She pulls away. Catra stares back at her, pupils blown wide, face impossibly close. The fabric of Adora’s dress bunches in her hand. 

“I don’t think I have a room yet,” Catra says.

Adora swallows. She traces a single freckle at the turn of Catra’s jaw. “You can stay with me. For old time’s sake.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


(fall, 1024 F.S.)

Catra’s arrival, years ago, at Castle Bright Moon was surprisingly unceremonious—Bow and Adora vouched for her as tentative allies, and Micah made sure the transition was comfortable enough. There hadn’t been any official hearings, no dramatics or fanfare to announce her defection. The discovery of a long-lost kingdom and the rescue of a long-lost king were enough to buy her a ticket onto the Rebellion’s side.

So, she’s never felt on trial at Castle Bright Moon until right now.

Micah means well. He always means well. Bow tells her that’s just what it’s like having a parent; having someone care so deeply about your life that they pry a little too far. Catra appreciates it, really, she does. But it’s also a test of her patience sometimes.

At dinner he asks her the usual: how she’s settling in to Halfmoon, how her work is going, if she’s been traveling much beside her trips to Bright Moon. It’s been a long time since she’s been back—a couple of months, give or take. She can’t say it’s been an accident.

“But you’ve been making friends, right?” Micah asks. “If it ever gets lonely, Bright Moon would love to have you back.”

The look Glimmer gives her dad implies otherwise.

“Yeah,” Catra says. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good.” Micah looks at her expectantly, raising an eyebrow. She isn’t getting off that easily. “Okay, fine. I have friends. And sometimes Scorpia and Lonnie come visit. And I’ve been—” Catra stumbles on her words. She stops herself, taking a breath as she mumbles, “I’ve been dating this girl on the council.”

Glimmer chokes on her food. She gives a loud, dramatic cough—Catra can’t tell if it’s genuine, or if she’s putting on a show of her disapproval. She recovers enough to glare at Catra like she’s just admitted to committing a felony.

“It’s been a couple of weeks.” Catra shrugs, trying to appear casual, trying to keep her words as neutral and inoffensive as possible. “And it’s been going well. It’s…it’s nice.”

Micah smiles at her. “That’s great, Catra. Maybe you’d want to bring her with you to Bright Moon some time?”

She hears Glimmer shriek _ “No! _” as Catra sputters, “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.” She clears her throat. “I mean, not yet. Uh, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” She practically leaps out of her seat and starts down the hall.

“I’m going, too!” Glimmer says behind her.

Once they’re out of earshot, Catra turns on her heels toward Glimmer. “_ What _? What did I do wrong this time?”

“You have a girlfriend?”

“I’m sorry, is that against the law or something, Queen Glimmer?” Catra rolls her eyes. “Why is it any of your business?”

“It just—because—” Glimmer grunts. There’s a deep crease forming in her forehead. Catra has to bite her lip to stop from giggling at how stupid she looks when she gets angry, like a baby mid-tantrum. “Fine! It’s not. It’s not my business, I’m not involved, I don’t know anyone who might want to know about this—”

Catra bristles. Her hands clench into fists by her sides. “Glimmer. What did we say about these dinners?”

She rolls her eyes. “What happens at dinner stays at dinner. Yeah, yeah. Come on,” Glimmer mutters. She grabs Catra by the wrist. “We still have to make it through dessert.”

“Give me a second.” Catra yanks her arm away. “I’m not walking back in there with you. It’ll look like we’re friends or something.”

Glimmer scoffs at her, but she walks in by herself, anyway.

Catra takes a moment to catch a breath and collect herself. It’s not fair, really. Her life in Halfmoon is the one thing Adora’s presence has barely touched, and while she might once have resented that, she now prefers it that way. She isn’t about to let Glimmer take that away from her. She’s not about to have her personal life aired like it’s dirty laundry, like her being happy is something she’s done to personally offend Adora, like it’s a piece of gossip for Glimmer to unload in a loud tirade of a rant to her friends after dinner. She isn’t—

It doesn’t matter, actually. She’s not Adora’s problem anymore.

Just as she cools off enough to go inside, by some sick, cosmic joke, she sees the flick of a blonde ponytail emerge from the nearby corridor.

Adora is there, right in front of her, because of _ course _she is.

Catra feels a lump form in her throat. She should be used to this; Adora is always there, has always been everywhere and nowhere to her all at once. Adora’s never where Catra needs her, always where she doesn’t want her. They never escape one another, yet they’ve spent the better part of twenty-four years slipping each other by. At some points, in the few, precious moments where the lines their lives formed intersected, it felt like fate. Not so much anymore. 

They lock eyes for a moment. Adora opens her mouth to speak, but must decide against it. She closes her mouth with a pout.

Catra furrows her brow at her. “Got something to say, princess?”

“I—I didn’t know you were stopping by,” Adora stammers.

“It’s been a while since I saw Micah,” Catra says simply.

“Oh.”

“And I should get back.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.” Adora twirls the end of her ponytail between her fingers. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you around, Catra.”

Adora bounds off in the opposite direction, and something in Catra’s chest tightens. She’s been—avoiding is a strong word, but she’s been cautious about being in the same place at the same time as Adora, even in their tentative friendship. Their every interaction since running into her over the summer has been planned, premeditated. She shouldn’t feel so caught off-guard right now, when she’s happy somewhere else, with someone else, far away from her atmosphere. 

Catra catches herself staring off to where Adora disappeared. She blinks, shakes her head, and walks back into the dining hall.

  
  
  
  
  


(winter, 1024 F.S.) 

“Get this: Sea Hawk broke up with Mermista.” 

Adora pauses. “Okay, that’s a lie.” 

The three of them sit on the floor of Glimmer’s room, three nearly empty bottles of sparkling pink drinks at center. For once Glimmer’s without her crown and ornate clothes. Instead, all members of the best friend squad wear pajamas. Bow had insisted on it in the days following the ball; continued to badger them about not having spent any time together that wasn’t strictly about alliances and the kingdom and politics. 

Bow grins and leans close. “I’d never lie. It happened the night of the ball. He said he wasn’t being appreciated enough and that she was too embarrassed of him and just —” he tapers off, sitting back with a shrug. “I don’t think it’ll stick, though.” 

“Of course it won’t,” scoffs Glimmer. “They break up every other month.” 

“Yeah, but it’s always Mermista ending it,” Adora says. “Sea Hawk doing it? That’s serious.” She takes a sip of her drink. Her nose crinkles and she sets it aside. “Actually, are we sure someone hasn’t brainwashed him? Switched him with a clone? Blackmailed him?” 

“I think it might be good for both of them. Y’know, get out there. Meet new people.” Bow shrugs again. He sets his empty glass down on the floor. “Everyone’s moving on. It’s exciting!” 

Glimmer catches Adora’s eye and rolls her own. She turns back to Bow. “Okay, define ‘everyone.’”

Here, Bow hesitates; looks as though he regrets speaking, face paling despite the flush on his cheeks. It’s a testament to Adora’s tolerance that it takes only a look from Glimmer to stop her from reaching over and shaking Bow. Instead, she raises a single brow and says, “Bow?” 

“Just,” he waves a flippant hand, “everyone. Y’know. Philosophically speaking.” 

“When have you ever gotten philosophical?” asks Glimmer. 

Bow gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. The corner of Glimmer’s mouth twitches, and Adora’s _ tired _ . Before the bit goes further, she nudges Bow’s crossed legs with a sock clad foot and whines, _ “Boooooooowwwww,” _ again in the most petulant voice she can muster. 

“I’m serious!” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not being specific. All of our friends are single right now anyways, except for Catra, so —” 

Glimmer hides her face in her hands and groans while Bow promptly shuts his mouth, staring down at his own sock clad feet, red rolling up his neck all the way up to his ears. Adora blinks once, twice; tries to work through the fuzzy bits of her mind to focus on Catra’s name, and the exact context of what Bow’s saying and then —

“She’s not?” she says, voice small. Her eyebrows furrow and she scowls. “And you..._ both _ knew?” 

“Catra made me promise not to tell anyone,” says Bow. “I’m sorry, Adora.” A pause. He squints at Glimmer. “How did you know?”

“I have dinner with her and dad basically every other week,” she replies. “It’s come up a few times. I thought it wasn’t serious, though.” Glimmer crosses her arms. “I just...look, Adora, it just wasn’t any of my business, okay? I’m sorry, but you know you deserve better.” 

“Right,” Adora says. She wrings her hands together and frowns down at them. “Right,” she repeats, voice wavering. “That’s fine. It’s fine. She can — She can be with whoever she wants.” When Bow and Glimmer share a look — and they’ve been sharing plenty of looks lately, and frankly Adora’s sick of it — her face burns and she scrambles up. “I’m gonna head to bed.” 

“Are you okay?” asks Bow. 

“I don’t know. How would you feel if you found out your — your ex or friend or _ whatever _ was dating someone new and everyone kept it from you because — Honestly it’s fine.” She tugs at her ponytail. “It’s fine. Whatever. Good night.” 

“Adora, come on.” Glimmer stands and grips Adora’s wrist, tugging her back. “I didn’t tell anyone, not even Bow. It’s not like we were purposely keeping this from you.” 

She grinds her teeth. Her face burns. She wishes she stopped after her first drink. She already knows that she’s reacting worse than she would if she were entirely sober, but she can’t stop herself. “She was.” 

“That’s...not fair,” Bow says, hesitant. He’s still sitting on the ground, legs crossed. He pushes himself up. He sways on his feet for a moment before finding his balance. “You know that — You two haven’t been...whatever it is you were for a really long time, Adora.”

“I know that. But we’re still supposed to be _ friends _,” she snaps. She forces a breath out through her nose. Glimmer tugs at Adora’s wrist, draws her closer, and Adora lets her. She thinks of the ball, of Catra’s hands on her waist, the way she lingered as she held Adora. She’s a wound that Adora thinks will never heal. “You know what’s not fair? Being left out of the loop because everyone thinks I’m too — too messed up to handle it. And then feeling like an idiot because for a moment it felt like maybe —” She stops herself. 

Glimmer squeezes Adora’s wrist. She pulls Adora into a hug, small arms wrapped her torso, and then Bow joins in. He holds them both and Adora squeezes her eyes shut as she hides her face in the crook of his neck. 

“I feel so_ stupid,” _ she says. She wants to swipe at her eyes, clear herself of the warm tears already staining the fabric of Bow’s shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” Bow says. 

Adora exhales a shaky breath. They hold her tighter. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(winter, 1025 F.S.) 

When Catra visits Bright Moon next, Adora is gone. “I sent her to handle some negotiations in the Kingdom of Snows and Salineas,” is all Glimmer offers. She might as well have flipped Catra off. 

The rest of dinner passes, a miserable event that Catra barely manages to get through without snapping at Glimmer. Despite the years of diplomacy between them, something about Glimmer manages to raise her hackles. She spends the entire dinner prodding at Catra, throwing passive aggressive comments at her, glaring at her even as she talks with Micah. 

The second Micah dismisses them both Catra practically runs out the room. 

She makes her way towards Bow’s room instead of her own. She knocks once, twice, and then Bow’s opening the door, his face bright the moment they lock eyes. 

“I didn’t know you were visiting today,” he says as he lets her in. His room stands a direct contrast to her own back home: organized to the point it barely looks inhabited. He pulls her into a hug she tolerates for a few seconds before pulling away. 

“Grain shortage back in Halfmoon,” she says. “Had to come here and try to get Sparkles to supply us with some until the summer.”

He hums. He plops down onto a plush lavender seat right as she helps herself to the daybed by the window. “You know Bright Moon will always help out Halfmoon so it’s not going to be a hassle.” 

“You really underestimate what a pain in the ass your queen can be.” 

“I think I know that better than anyone,” he says with a smile. “She’s not bad. She’s just passionate.” 

“Gross,” is all Catra says. She grabs a fuzzy pink pillow and cradles it to her chest. “And wrong. She’s spent all of dinner with Micah acting like I killed her puppy or something.” Bow raises an eyebrow and Catra huffs. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!” 

Bow pauses. He slumps in his chair and runs a hand down his face. “Actually,” he says, “this is kind of on all of us?” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Right. As if Glimmer would ever be mad at you.” 

“She’s…not.” He shifts in his seat and then takes a deep breath. “I kind of accidentally told Adora you’re seeing someone.” 

Catra goes still. 

“I didn’t mean to! We were drinking, and it just kind of came out, and then Glimmer admitted that she knew too but that it wasn’t her business to tell anyone, and Adora didn’t take it that well —”

Her jaw twitches. She can’t be mad at Bow, she thinks. Still, she digs her claws into the pillow and take careful stock not to rip it apart. 

Adora didn’t take it well. Catra can’t allow herself the space to sit back and analyze it; knows that if she traced that fact back to its root she’d find nothing but self-blame. She thinks of the ball, the way her hands fit as if made to hold the dip of Adora’s waist, and looks away from Bow. 

“It’s not her business,” she says. 

Bow stops. “Well, yeah. But she’s still...The two of you were —” 

“What?” She cuts her eyes to him. “We were what?” 

“Friends? Or at least supposed to be?” 

“Yeah, well, she fucked that one up, didn’t she?”

“The war ended years ago, Catra, that isn’t fair —” 

“I’m not talking about —” She bites her tongue. She doesn’t know how to explain that Adora is always the one leaving. That she could’ve had Catra so long ago, but she let go without a single word. That Adora’s a wound Catra cradles close, never quite ready to heal. She’s trying to move on. She’s trying. “What about you?”

Bow starts. “Uh, what about me?”

“When are you going to stop acting clueless and actually do something about you and Glimmer, huh? I don’t think you can lecture me on shit when _ that’s _ been happening.” 

For once Bow looks aggrieved. He sits, entire body rigid. He stares back at her, unflinching, and says, “I’m sorry I told Adora. But you should’ve told her yourself. Don’t snap at me when you know I’m not the one you’re actually mad at.” 

Catra hugs the pillow tighter. She turns her face away. 

“I think you should head to your room,” Bow says. “It’s late.” 

She looks at Bow, only to find him scowling down at the floor. An apology sits ready in her mouth. She swallows it back. She gets up and leaves without a word. 

  
  
  
  
  


(winter, 1025 F.S.)

As if to make up for having kept Catra’s secret from her, Glimmer sends Adora away. First to the Kingdom of Snows right as the new year rounds its head, to a court filled with teenage drama, which Adora supposes she should be the last to complain about. 

“How’s Glimmer? She hasn’t gotten back to me on funding for underground tunnels to connect Bright Moon and the Kingdom of Snows yet,” she says from her spot on Adora’s guest bed. She lays on her stomach, chin in hand, her feet swinging back and forth in the air. “I tried to really detail how great it would be to have our two kingdoms so instantly connected, but she won’t reply.” 

Adora shrugs from her perch by the window. “She’s fine.” 

A pause. Frosta purses her lips. “Okay, what’s up with you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re all...mopey. You’re never mopey.” 

“I don’t mope.” 

Frosta raises an eyebrow. It’s still odd to recognize how much she’s grown in the past few years. She’s taller than Glimmer now by an inch or two. 

“Whatever,” she says. She rolls over onto her back, her head hanging off the edge of the bed. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” says Adora.

“Ugh,” Frosta groans. “You aren’t funny. Seriously.” 

Adora chuckles and crosses her arms, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, shoot.” 

“There’s this noble girl,” Frosta starts, face turning pink. “I kinda like her...but whenever I try talking to her I get all stupid! Like, the other day I asked her if she likes hummus and then ran away, and she made me a drawing and I pointed out that she needs to brush up on her color theory even though I really did like it, and one time I was going to give her flowers but I saw her coming towards me and I threw them out the window.” 

Adora blinks. She opens her mouth. She shuts it. Then: “Have you tried just...talking to her?”

The look Frosta shoots her is enough to raise her hands in surrender. 

“Forget it,” she huffs. “I’ll ask Glimmer. She’ll know what to do.” 

Adora thinks back to way Glimmer glances at Bow when she thinks he isn’t looking. “Yeah. Doubt it.” 

After, Adora avoids any sort of personal conversation as much as she can. She has excuses: Frosta’s still learning how to delegate her kingdom and Glimmer’s given her a list of things to help her with like ensuring Frosta’s people have enough furs and food to last through the winter. People love to see She-Ra. She shifts as often as possible; makes as many appearances as needed around the kingdom until she barely sees the point in switching back. 

So, maybe she’s moping. Maybe it’s just harder to move on. Maybe it would’ve been easier if she hadn’t let herself fall back into Catra’s orbit. If she hadn’t spent a childhood holding Catra’s hand through the offset flickering halls of the Fright Zone. If she hadn’t leaned in one day as a nervous teenager and fumbled through a mess of a first kiss. If she and Catra hadn’t stolen a skiff. 

If Catra didn’t smile at Adora, even now, as if it were still only the two of them. If Adora didn’t know what it was like to hold Catra close, to feel the warmth of her skin beneath her hands, to kiss her breathless. If Catra hadn’t swooped into battle at just the right moment and turned to her with that smile, the one that always sent Adora’s heart skipping, and said, “You’re welcome.” 

Adora spends her last few days in the Kingdom of Snows watching the moon break over the horizon. She sits alone, painfully cold even dressed in her warmest furs. She saved the world, once. She should be above this. She should be able to let go. Funny, really, that after all this time she still can’t. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(fall, 1021 F.S.)

It’s days like this that Catra has missed: a conversation about nothing, Adora running her fingers through Catra’s hair. Catra lays with her head in Adora’s lap. There’s a chill to the air; it’s only been months since stars have come back to Etheria, since the war’s end, since Adora and Catra turned from warriors to politicians overnight and found free time harder and harder to come by.

They make the most of it, with Adora a permanent fixture in Bright Moon and Catra splitting her time evenly between the castle and Halfmoon. She doesn’t tell Adora that someday that will probably have to change. Halfmoon will need her.

Catra decides that all of that is a problem for tomorrow.

Now, Adora sighs and looks down at Catra with a soft smile. “Hey.”

“‘Hey’ yourself,” Catra says in return. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Adora says. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making me steal that skiff.” Adora tilts her head upward, looking at the stars. Catra has half a mind to pull her downward by the neck and kiss over that stupid dreamy grin on Adora’s lips.

But she doesn’t. Something holds her back.

Instead, Catra only smiles back at her as she says: “You’re welcome.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(winter, 1025 F.S.)

It takes Catra another twenty-four hours to apologize to Bow. She doesn’t want to, really, but she can’t stand the way their silence dredged on throughout the day’s meals, how suddenly unwelcome she felt. It reminded her too much of when she’d first arrived at Castle Bright Moon years ago.

She stands outside Bow’s door. She knocks twice, then twice again for good measure. She stands with her arms crossed, staring down at her feet as she shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

Bow opens the door. He frowns back at her.

“Look,” Catra says. “I’m sorry.”

Bow raises an eyebrow. Catra groans.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you, okay?”

“Do you wanna talk?”  
  
“Are you gonna pester me until I do if I say no?”

Bow laughs, grants her a tight smile. “Probably.”

He opens his door, and Catra takes her usual spot by the window’s daybed. She sits with her legs propped up across the nook, crossed at the ankles. She scowls down at her arms folded across her chest.

“I know Adora saved the world and everything,” Catra starts. “But she’s also full of shit. She’s been impossible ever since we—” 

_ Since we broke up _, Catra wants to say, but she stops herself. That’s the problem, isn’t it? That they never did end things? That Adora never stopped making decisions on Catra’s behalf, never consulted her or gave her the courtesy of a warning that she wanted to be through with her? It’s always Adora leaving. And the fallout is always, in Adora’s mind, somehow Catra’s mess to clean up, despite her doing nothing to cause it. She thought she’d buried those harsh feelings, the ones that cut at her chest and leave her hollow and burning inside years ago at the war’s end. They’d been naive to think that one dramatic, heat of the moment kiss on a scorched battlefield would solve anything between them.

Funny, isn’t it. All these years later, and they find themselves here again, Adora making big decisions, throwing their equilibrium off balance. Begging Catra to catch up, and resenting her when she can’t.

“I didn’t think your breakup was that bad,” Bow says gently. “Adora never mentioned it being messy.”

“She didn’t, huh?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Catra holds her jaw tense. “Because we never broke up, Bow. Technically, we were never even together.” Bow looks confused, and Catra rolls her eyes. “I mean, obviously we were together, but we just—we never talked about it. I thought we were fine, but then one day she stood me up and just decided we were done.”

Bow looks on, a blank expression in his eyes. Catra snorts.

“She didn’t tell you any of this, did she?”

“No,” Bow answers.

“Yeah, well, she just started ignoring me one day, and it really fucking sucked, and I’m not about to let her make herself the victim here. I mean, she dumps me out of nowhere, and now she’s mad that I’m moving on? She’s so stupid. She’s so—”

Catra feels a hand on her shoulder. She looks up. Bow is beside her, motioning for her to make room on the daybed for him. She obliges, scooting over enough for Bow to sit down.

“You can talk to me about things, too, you know,” Bow offers. “I’ll stay neutral.”

“Really.”

“You’re my friend too, aren’t you?”

“When I’m not third-degreeing you about Sparkles,” Catra says.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line.” Bow’s face reddens ever so slightly. His voice cracks, and Catra chuckles.

“If you guys ever figure your shit out and get married,” Catra says, “I want it to be obvious that I’m only there for you.”

If Bow is caught off-guard by her hypotheticals of Glimmer, he hardly shows it. “Aren’t you guys family?”

“Don’t remind me,” Catra says with a groan. She adds, before she can think about it: “If I get married she’s sitting at the loser’s table in the back.”

“Right,” Bow smirks. “What if she and—what was her name again?”

“Huh?”

“Your girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Catra feels her voice tighten in her throat. “Nima.”

“Okay, what if she and Nima hit it off?” Bow asks. There’s a glint to his eye, like he’s asking about something—_ someone _else entirely. Catra ignores it as best as she can. She can see the gears turning in his head, the ones that are charting and dissecting the social politics at play, and if there’s one thing Catra has learned during her political career, it’s that leaving room for ambiguity is key. “You’re gonna deprive your future wife of her best friend on her wedding day? That’s cold.”

“We’ll—we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Catra manages. She coughs, twirls a finger around the small tufts of hair underneath her ear.

Bow smiles back at her, sly and mischievous like he knows something. Catra shrugs him off.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?” she asks. She’s eager to misplace his expression, purposefully interpret it in a way that’s safer, a way that bends into a joke. A way that doesn’t dig into her one weak spot like claws in her side. Bow means well, but they share an affinity for stirring the pot. It’s why they’re friends, in times of peace between her and him and Adora—it’s how they spent half their nights while Catra still frequented the castle, the three of them gossiping over wine in one of their bedrooms. Maybe it’s why, despite herself, she’s always trusted Bow to lend an eager ear to her problems, if only for a guarantee that they’ll be acknowledged by _ someone _. 

“I’m taken.” Catra finishes. “And you’re not even remotely my type.”

Bow offers her a roll of his eyes and a laugh. Catra takes it, and leaves it at that.

  
  
  
  
  
  


(winter, 1025 F.S.)

“Adora?” says Hasna. 

It’s late and Adora’s tired. Across the table, Hasna stares worriedly at her, eyebrows drawn together. She’s pretty, Adora knows, petite and soft, with blue hair cropped close to her scalp and wide brown eyes. Mermista seemed sure they’d get along when she set them up and Adora can see why in all the logical ways: both of them having worked as soldiers in the war, now shoved into political roles out of their depth, and Hasna smiles like she’s capable of finding good even in the worst of circumstances. 

And yet —

“Sorry. Sorry!” Adora shifts in her seat and tucks her hair behind an ear. “What was that?” 

“I was just asking if you wanted dessert?” Hasna asks. “They make these really nice cakes. Plus, it _ is _ Mermista’s treat.” 

The restaurant rests near the Salineas castle, a favorite of its kingdom’s princess. Mermista planned the entire thing out; had nudged Adora and said, “It’s about time you move on from that catgirl anyways.” It’s nice and open, with a large private balcony that lets them see out to the ocean. Hasna wears a pretty navy kurtis and her nails are painted black and she looks great, really, she does, but Adora still sits uneasy, her shoulders too tense for what should be a nice evening. She can’t even recall half of what they’ve talked about. 

“Uh, sure,” she says. “Pick whatever you want.”

“You don’t even wanna see the options?”

Adora shrugs, a weak attempt at casualness. “I’ll probably like anything on there anyways. It’s fine.” 

The corner of Hasna’s lips twitch down for a second. She’s quick to brighten up and says, “Okay, cool.” 

They finish dinner and dessert with minimal input on Adora’s part. She hums and ‘yeahs’ and nods when she thinks she should, tries to keep up with Hasna as best she can. She craves her bed back in the Salineas castle. When they leave Hasna links their arms and rests her other hand on Adora’s bicep, already talking a mile a minute. Something about showing Adora her favorite spots in Salineas. Adora forces a smile and lets her lead. 

By the time they make it to Hasna’s home only a few minutes away from the castle, Adora’s given up on even talking. Hasna keeps shooting Adora shy glances as she unlocks her door, and then they’re both standing outside her home. The palms of Adora’s hands are damp as she wipes them on the fabric of the skirt Mermista loaned her. 

“Do you wanna come in?” Hasna asks. 

Adora forces her breaths to even. She stares down at the floor, her face burning. “I think — I think I’m just gonna head home.” 

“Oh,” says Hasna. Her disappointment beats loud. Adora lifts her eyes and finds Hasna frowning, only to force a smile when they lock eyes. “That’s alright. I had a lovely night.” 

Adora nods. “Me too. It was nice meeting you.” 

Later, when she makes it back to her temporary room, she falls face first onto her bed and groans. She flops over onto her back and drags her hangs down her face. She’s granted maybe a minute or two of peace before there’s furious pounding at her door and she forces herself out of bed to open the door to a scowling Mermista. She pushes past Adora. She stands in the center of the room, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised until Adora shuts the door. 

“Are you kidding me?” Mermista says. 

Adora’s so tired. “What?” 

“Um, Hasna? Hello?” 

“Yeah. She’s nice.” 

“I know she’s nice,” Mermista drawls. “Why aren’t you with her now?” 

Adora groans. She drags herself to her bed and falls face first again and groans, again. She should’ve never agreed to this in the first place. 

A hand nudges her ankle hanging off the end of the bed. “I thought Bow was being dramatic when he said you were sulking.” 

“I don’t sulk,” says Adora, voice muffled by the mattress. She lifts her head and glares at Mermista as she sits next to her on the bed. Mermista gives her a look. “I don’t sulk!” 

“Then why aren’t you making out with my hot friend?” 

“I didn’t want to lead her on!” 

“Oh my god,” Mermista says. She looks at Adora like Adora never saved the world. “I wasn’t trying to find you a wife, Adora.”

Adora’s face burns. “I don’t want that either!” 

“So, what? You’re single, you’re hot, you’re literally She-Ra and you’re going to waste all of that on pining after some girl that you aren’t even boning?” 

_ “Mermista!” _

“I’m right.” She shrugs, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re not, like, sixty years old. Move on.” 

“I have.” When Mermista raises an eyebrow, Adora huffs. “I moved on a long time ago! I just don’t want to date right now.” 

“Uh huh. You want to focus on yourself, is that right?” 

“Well, yeah —”

“Does focusing on yourself include locking yourself in your room for hours and ignoring all your friends or am I getting that wrong?” Mermista doesn’t even look at Adora. She stares down at her nails and starts to pick at the chipping polish. “You’re sulking and it’s kind of messing up this whole visit.” 

“I’m not here to socialize anyways,” says Adora. 

“Right. Glimmer sent you here because you so obviously understand trade between Salineas and Bright Moon,” replies Mermista. Adora suddenly, viscerally misses Bow and Glimmer. “Don’t you get tired of all this drama?” 

Adora stops. She buries her face in the nearest pillow. “You’re one to talk.” 

“Yeah, we’re not talking about me right now. That is totally not a battle you wanna go through right now.” 

Adora hums. She turns her head and raise an eyebrow at Mermista. “Sea Hawk —” 

“_ Do not _say that name or I’m kicking you out.” Mermista pushes off the bed. She flips her braid over her shoulder and crosses her arms as she stares down at Adora. “Stop being literally the most depressing person I’ve ever met and try to get some. I mean girls and therapy, for the record.” 

“I have a therapist.” 

“Yeah, well, talk to them a little more. I can’t believe you ruined it with Hasna. Have you seen that girl? You’re, like, actually the worst, Adora.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Adora says. 

“You’re welcome. Now, can you change out of my clothes? You’re getting them all wrinkly.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


(fall, 1021 F.S.)

Catra’s knees frame Adora’s sides. She sits up, hovering over Adora and lifting her chin with the end of a training staff. 

“First time I’ve won against you,” Catra says triumphantly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Adora rolls her eyes. “My form was off.”

“Was it? Or are you just out of practice, princess?”

“Oh no, Force Captain, are you gonna make me go for another round in the training simulation?”

The training grounds sit empty, Adora the only person besides the guards who bothers to frequent them anymore. Since the war’s end, people have gotten lazy, Catra thinks. Too caught up in this newfound peacetime. Too careless.

A part of her is still wired to acknowledge that weakness, to note it as something to exploit later. A bigger part of her shoves that away.

She’s about to throw the staff aside and offer Adora a hand up when Adora grabs it and pulls. Catra yelps as she finds herself dragged down. Her chest presses against Adora’s, the staff lying awkwardly between them, one of Adora’s arms coming to wrap around her.

Catra covers the hitch in her breath with a shaky laugh. “Careful, cadet. Or I’ll personally drag that training simulator out of the Fright Zone ruins just for you.”

“That’s a lot of effort. Someone might get the idea that you like me.” Adora runs one hand through Catra’s hair, smoothing her bangs back.

“Shut up,” Catra says as she nuzzles into the crook of Adora’s neck. She feels Adora’s lips graze the top of her head. 

“Do you ever think about it? The Fright Zone?”

“Inevitably, yeah.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to bring it up, I just—sometimes I look at the two of us here and can’t believe we made it out.”

Catra props herself up on an elbow beside Adora. “Adora—”

“It’s nothing,” Adora says. “I know you don’t like to talk about it.”

Catra frowns. Adora’s right—she doesn’t like to talk about it. But she also knows that they _ should _talk about it, knows that even with a peace settled over them, they’re still hiding themselves away. She hasn’t slept in her own bed since her first visit back to Bright Moon; she knows that sometimes Adora will shake and whimper in her sleep, knows that some nights she doesn’t fall asleep at all. And Adora knows that sometimes Catra still wakes up in the early morning gasping for air, clutching her chest like she’s on the floor of Hordak’s sanctum. Really, it’s just that Adora doesn’t want to talk about what lies difficult between them.

But here Adora is doing what she always does—martyring herself to avoid having to dig deeper, attempting to spare Catra’s feelings by swallowing down her own. Catra tries her hardest not to dwell on it. They’re still learning how to navigate a world without fear, without looming bitterness and betrayal. They’re trying. Sometimes it all feels a bit too hard.

Catra squints into the horizon. In the sky blue turns to purple, purple gives way to darker blue. “The sun’s setting.”

“Oh,” Adora frowns. “We should head in for dinner.”

“Or—we could skip it?” Catra wagers. “Get food from the kitchen later.”

“We could.”

Catra brings a hand to trace Adora’s jaw. She presses her thumb against her lip, running the blunt edge of her nail across the pink skin. She feels Adora’s heartbeat quicken, hears her breathing grow heavy. She watches for a moment. She loves the way Adora’s eyes shine back at her, narrow and half-lidded, how her cheeks flush red. 

Catra wants her, more than anything. She wants nothing more than to love and be loved by Adora, wants nothing more than to bottle up the warmth that blossoms inside her when Adora looks at her like this and tuck it away somewhere safe and hidden, to keep it with her always.

She loves her. She wishes she knew how to say it. Wishes she knew how to keep her here forever.

Instead, she settles for running her lips against the spot on Adora’s collarbone that she knows will tickle. Adora giggles, and draws Catra in closer. It’s enough for now.

“The stars are coming out,” Catra says. She slings an arm around Adora’s torso. “We should admire your handiwork.”

  
  
  
  


(spring, 1025 F.S.) 

Sometimes, the worst of times, Adora considers barging into Catra’s home and demanding answers. She pictures it clearly: The slam of the door hitting the wall, the surprise and guilt on Catra’s face when Adora finally — _ finally _ — lays out everything between them. The uneasy tension. The lingering glances. The periods of marked silence. The way things should’ve worked out after the war, but didn’t. 

She read, sometimes. Lance and George’s library is large and borderline endless, with a limitless supply of literature she never could’ve imagined. During the war, in times of uncalled ceasefires between the Horde and the Rebellion, when everyone tried to recuperate and get their bearings, she would stop by and pour over the First One’s writings to try and understand her people. She had never been one for academia. She preferred the reassurance of knocking bodies around, of solid causes and effects right there in front of her instead of trying to analyze some philosophical story or understand history. 

But they were her people. Her past. Answers, she once thought. 

She didn’t get many. Not about herself, at least. There wasn’t a lot about Eternia, and what there was was so aged she could barely decipher it. She read some tales of previous She-Ras, ones about keeping the peace, taming wild beasts, saving princesses, stopping wars before they consumed everything. Most had happy endings. Good endings. Ones with friends coming together and princesses healing the planet and lost loves reuniting. That’s how things were supposed to go. 

Adora thought one day her story would fit the mold, that historians could point at her name in a book and say she got the happily ever after she deserved. That she got the girl, too. 

Stupid of her, really. 

She leaves for Halfmoon with Mermista when she’s summoned to renegotiate their summer trades. Both their economies thrive at this time in the year, the fish and meat more plentiful than the brief chill both their environments experience in the winter, even so far south. Sometimes the council members get selfish, Mermista tells her with a roll of the eyes, so she and her court have to make the trip to make sure they aren’t getting the short end of the deal. 

The trip between the two kingdoms is long, though not as long as traveling from the Kingdom of Snows to Salineas. Adora avoids Hasna when she can, and Hasna grants her the same favor, choosing to pick a room on the opposite end of the ship when they sail by boat, and then taking a different carriage when they trek through land. Mermista tolerates Adora as best as she can, Adora thinks, but she kicks her out of her carriage at some point and forces her into another with court members who Adora only vaguely remembers. 

By the time they finally make it to Halfmoon, just in time for supper, Adora locks herself in her room. No one tries to draw her out. She falls back on the bed, aware of the last time she slept in this very room, and forces herself to rest. 

The next morning she’s dragged into a meeting between the Salinean court and the Halfmoon council, forced in as a neutral party. She tries to sit with her back straight, to really focus on the discussion between the two, but politics always leave her yearning for her bed or the training courts back at Castle Bright Moon. Across the long table, Catra listens with her chin resting in hand, her mouth in a taut line. Her hair’s grown long enough to tie back with a band at the nape of her neck and her cheeks are fuller, evidence of years of better eating. 

Adora’s leg shakes. When Catra stands to propose some motion, Adora repeatedly taps the end of her pencil against the table and ignores the annoyed looks Catra shoots her way. 

“Is there anything you wanna share, Adora?” she asks, voice tight, careful. She crosses her arms over her chest. 

Adora raises an eyebrow. She keeps tapping her pencil against the surface of the table. “You actually want to know what I think? That’s a surprise, ambassador.” 

Catra blinks at her. Her brows draw together. “Your input is always appreciated.”

“Is it?” she throws back. “Sometimes I think you enjoy withholding information from me.” 

The room falls silent. Mermista elbows Adora in the ribs. Adora pays her no mind and holds Catra’s stare. 

“I think we need a recess,” Catra says. 

Everyone disperses, off to the marketplace for lunch, or literally anywhere else. Adora makes it out into the courtyard when a hand grips her wrist and tugs her back, nails digging into her flesh hard. 

“Ow,” she hisses. She rips her arm out of Catra’s grip and cradles it to her chest. “What the hell, Catra?” 

_ “‘What the hell, Catra,’” _ she mocks in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. “What is your _ problem?” _

“My problem? _ My _ problem? Are you kidding me?” 

Catra scowls and pokes at the center of Adora’s chest. “I’m not going to play this game with you. I don’t give a crap about whatever it is you’re mad about this time. Do not bring that shit in there. This is my fucking job, Adora.”

“Hilarious, really, since you love playing games,” Adora spits back. She slaps Catra’s hand away. “We’re supposed to be friends, Catra, and you never tell me anything!” 

“Oh, because suddenly I gotta report to you for everything, right? Sorry, Force Captain, I’ll leave a detailed file on my last twenty-four hours on your desk by morning.” 

“Shut up,” says Adora. “You know that’s not what I mean.” 

“What do you mean, then?” Catra steps close, eyes intent on Adora’s face. “What’s so important that you’d risk peace between two kingdoms?”

Adora’s mouth dries. She takes a step back. She hugs her arms to herself, and then, softly, “We agreed we’d try to be friends, Catra.” 

Catra stiffens, though nothing in her features betray surprise. “I’m not the one that disappeared,” she says. Adora can’t help but feel there’s a second conversation running beneath the surface, one they won’t dig into, not without coming up dirty and raw. 

Adora swallows past the lump in her throat. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” When Catra stays silent, staring back unblinkingly, Adora drags her hands over her face, up into her hair. “I’m sorry, okay. I shouldn’t have said anything in there. Can we just...actually try this time? Both of us?” 

Silence stretches between them. Catra looks back at her with her face blank, utterly undecipherable. There was a time Adora could read her, even when she stood like this. She doesn’t know when she stopped being able to. 

“Okay,” says Catra. “Fine, yeah. Okay.” She crosses her arms; shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Look, we can just...grab dinner after the meeting, I guess. Catch up then.”

Adora nods and forces a smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(spring, 1025 F.S.) 

The meeting ends, and somehow Adora ends up shaking the hand of a Magicat woman. She stands one or two inches taller than Adora, black hair tied back into a low bun.

“I’m Nima,” she says, and Adora nods politely.

“Adora.”

“Oh, I know,” she smiles. “C’yra—_ Catra’s _ mentioned you _ — _ that she grew up with She-Ra, you know, so I _ —” _

Here, Catra intervenes. She surges forward to stand between them, and puts a hand on Nima’s forearm. Adora tries her best not to squint at them, not to analyze their body language, not to torture herself by guessing if this is the girl she’d told Bow and Micah and Glimmer but not _ her _about.

“Well.” Catra clears her throat a little too loudly. She laughs, a quick and awkward chuckle. “Glad you two have met. I’m gonna show Adora around,” she says to Nima. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Adora’s cheeks burn with a familiar warmth. She swallows and manages a polite wave back to Nima before she’s led through Halfmoon’s town center by Catra. Halfmoon is different than when she last visited; there are more houses, running electricity, a city filled with life instead of a settlement barely surviving. The courtyard is bustling with activity; with other politicians standing outside of the marketplace, families and out-of-place ambassadors from foreign kingdoms sitting down to eat at nearby restaurants.

“I’d say we should go out for dinner,” Catra explains as she unlocks her front door. She’s moved since Adora last visited her, her new house resting closer to the embassy. “But when we have political guests, it’s a nightmare in town. So I’ll just make something here.”

“You cook?”

“A little.” Catra settles into her kitchen, Adora sitting at her dining room table. Catra lights a burner and Adora watches her pour water into a kettle. “I usually don’t, though.” She moves on to chop vegetables on a cutting board, and part of Adora is surprised to see Catra using a kitchen knife. Something about the image doesn’t fit her; there’s something so strangely domestic about it all, a woman with claws born into her cutting peppers with a dull piece of metal. “I usually go over to Ni_—_a friend’s house for dinner.”

“Oh.” Adora chews at the inside of her cheek. She changes the subject. “Well, thank you for making me dinner, _ C’yra _.”

“Don’t you start with that, too.”

“I thought you went by C’yra here.”

“Yeah,” Catra says. “But you’re not _ from _here. I’m still Catra to you.”

“Nima called you C’yra.”

“Nima’s from here.” Catra shrugs. “What’s your point? My name’s still Catra. Unlike you, I don’t change my entire identity because some queen I barely knew asked nicely.”

“Even if it’s the Magicat Queen?”

“Especially if it’s the Magicat Queen.”

Catra hands Adora a cup of tea. Adora takes it, thanks her quickly, then wraps her hands around the body of the mug and stares down into it. Anything to hide the red that’s probably creeping up her neck.

It’s quiet as Catra prepares dinner. If she closes her eyes and erases the image burned into her mind of Catra with somebody else, her hands and eyes lingering for a moment too long as Nima introduced herself to Adora, it’s comfortable. In another world, this could be their life; catching up over dinner, sitting in a home that belongs to them. But it’s not. Adora doubts it ever will be.

Catra hands her a plate and sits down in the chair across from her. Adora drags her fork across the plate, sifting through slices of meat and vegetables.

“I’ve been traveling,” Adora offers. “I went to Salineas last month_ —” _

Catra snorts. “Yeah, I was there a couple of weeks ago. Mermista told me you stood up her friend.”

“I didn’t stand her up,” Adora says with a pout. “I just_ — _we didn’t hit it off. That’s all.” She adds, quietly: “I’m making a trip to, uh...to Scorpia’s kingdom in a few weeks.”

“You can just call it the Fright Zone, Adora, it’s fine.”

“Scorpia’ll probably ask about you.”

“And what are you going to tell her?”

“That you’ve got a girl in Halfmoon who cooks you dinner.” Adora takes a sip of her tea. It’s a touch bitter and a touch too hot. It burns the tip of her tongue, and she frowns. She doesn’t dare make eye contact with Catra now. “Do you ever visit?”

“I have, once or twice. She usually visits me here. I should get out to see her more, but…”

“Hard to be back?”

“Yeah.” Catra bites her lip. “It’s just...it’s still the Fright Zone, you know? And I love Scorpia, I do, but it’s. It’s weird to be back there.”

“Yeah,” Adora argues. “But Scorpia’s your friend.”

“Yeah.”

“And you should visit your friends,” Adora continues. “Even if it’s weird.”

“Adora, I was literally the Horde Lord,” Catra scoffs. “I feel like I have a valid reason to not go back there, it’s—it’s not just that it’s ‘weird,’ it’s more complicated for me than it is for you.”

“I mean, yeah, things are complicated, but when are they ever not going to be complicated?” Adora furrows her brow. She stares at Catra, maybe too much ammunition in her words, maybe too much fire in her eyes. Catra’s eyes are wide; half-confused, half on the defense. 

“Hey. You got out. I didn’t,” says Catra, pointing her fork toward Adora. ”And don’t give me some line about how I could’ve come with you.”

“You can’t just stop talking to your friends because it’s hard, Catra!”

“Are we still talking about Scorpia?” Catra raises an eyebrow. “I feel like you’re not talking about Scorpia.”

“Of course I’m talking about Scorpia!” Adora scowls. “You know what? Let’s just drop it. Sorry.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” Catra shrugs, unbothered. She returns to her dinner, and Adora tries to do the same. 

Adora takes inventory of Catra’s home. Behind the kitchen is a corridor with two doors cracked slightly open. One is a bedroom. Adora can see the blankets strewn across Catra’s bed, unmade from the night before. There’s a small sitting area across from the dining table, a sofa with mismatched throw pillows atop it. It’s charming. It’s a nice home, albeit small. It’s not what Adora pictured her house looking like. She realizes for what feels like the millionth time, looking through her home, through a space that she can hardly imagine Catra occupying, she doesn’t know Catra that well anymore after all. 

“Uh, Micah says you’re doing really well here,” Adora says. “Halfmoon’s trade is really coming along.”

“It is.” Catra’s eyes light up. Adora hates that her heart skips a beat like it does, that there’s something still endearing about how excited Catra gets when she talks about politics. “I mean, getting in touch with some of the kingdoms has been a pain in the ass, but it’s worth it. Like, Dryl? They can hardly figure their democracy system out, they don’t even know where to start on the economic stuff.”

Adora laughs. “Entrapta’s kingdom. Are you surprised?”

“Not at all.”

“Micah’s proud of you.” Adora grants Catra a smile. “I am, too.”

“Really.”

“Of course I am,” Adora answers. “I mean, you helped save the world.”

And she _ is _ proud _ — _if she puts her own hurt feelings aside, she can look up to Catra and marvel at the change the years have granted her. It suits her. It’s strange sometimes to see Catra’s features lined with an emotion other than anger; she looks happy now. Or, at least, happier than she was before. A small part of Adora knows she has little to do with that; a smaller part regrets it. The smallest part of her, still, wishes she had a larger place in Catra’s life than the almost nonexistent one she holds now.

“Well,” Catra says with a shrug and a laugh. “You helped, too. A little bit.”

“Just a little,” Adora agrees.

They finish dinner in silence; an uneasy type of quiet, but easier than it was before.

  
  
  
  
  
  


(winter, 1024 F.S.) 

Halfmoon feels...different. Not good or bad, just different.

Catra is what punctuates the change. In the political arena, she thrives in a way that Adora does and doesn’t recognize; the sheer force of will and charisma she uses to bend a situation to her wishes that let her climb up the ranks to Horde Lord all those years ago is still there, yet she uses it now to fight for a cause that actually matters, one that brings reconstruction instead of destruction. 

They sit in a meeting at the Halfmoon embassy, and Adora looks to Catra now—a contented hum as she listens in on a conversation between another ambassador and a councilwoman, her ears pricked forward and her elbows leaning on the table, always, _ always _ sitting with her chair a respectable distance from Adora, too far for them to bump shoulders with one another by accident. She looks nothing like Adora remembers; nothing like the angry shell of a best friend who once haunted her, still nothing like the young girl who ran through long, greenlit hallways with her hand in Adora’s. Here she looks confident, strong; everything she should have been a lifetime ago catching up to her now. 

Adora isn’t much use at Halfmoon meetings, sent really as a bone thrown to her from Glimmer to let her catch up with, as Glimmer says with a glint of mischief in her eye, ‘political allies.’ She’s meant to be just a body from the queen’s court, to appear as an idle show of political support from the Alliance although their business with Halfmoon as of recent has been little. No one speaks to Adora directly now, which gives her mind time to wander and her eyes time to fixate on the point of Catra’s chin.

She’s cut her hair since Adora last saw her. Her curls fall now in a bob ending just below her jaw. It looks nice. It looks like it did toward the end of the war, before she’d grown it back out. Adora thinks to ask when she’d cut it, to pay her a compliment once they’re given a moment alone together, but Catra has spent so much of the week whisked away by anonymous council members to discuss some bit of Halfmoon bureaucracy Adora doesn’t quite understand that the opportunity to catch her one-on-one slips quickly by.

“Do you want to grab dinner?”

“Huh?”

Adora blinks. Catra’s head snaps to her, looking on with a faint smile.

“Dinner,” Catra repeats. “I’ve got a bit of time in between meetings tonight.”

“Oh—I can’t,” Adora says. “I have to sit through another round.”

Catra snorts. “Because you have so much political insight to offer.”

“What if there’s a huge motion that needs She-Ra as a tiebreaker? If I’m not there, another war could break out.”

“And then She-Ra would finally have something to do.”

Adora shoves at her shoulder. Catra laughs at her, high-pitched and squeaky.

“Anyway, I gotta meet with the ambassador from Scorpion Hill now,” Catra says, and then adds with a smirk, “but stop by my room when you’re done with meetings?”

“Why?” Adora raises an eyebrow in challenge. “What’s going on in your room?”

Catra rolls her eyes. “See you later, Adora.”

Adora sits through hours of meetings; some necessary, others an exercise in patience. She wasn’t made to be a politician. She just doesn’t understand the urgency of it all, why councilors need answers right now in order to pass laws that won’t be put into effect until months later. The theatrics of it are exhausting.

Only a few motions are voted on today, none of which Adora needs to weigh in on. She-Ra, being a princess with no home kingdom, is a neutral party, only expected to voice an opinion if a tie needs to be broken or a majority needs to be met.

She excuses herself from the table once she finds herself blinking to stay alert, her energy fading. She hovers over the bathroom sink and splashes her face with cold water.

After a moment she starts on her way back to the assembly hall. She’s stopped by a laugh—squeaking up towards its apex and echoing across the corridor. Of course she recognizes it. Something inside her feels warm each time she hears it. 

Catra walks by with a group of Magicats, talking excitedly with an eager look to her eye. Adora doesn’t follow the conversation—it’s weighed down by Halfmoon or Magicat jargon, locations and customs that aren’t familiar to her, yet Catra is fluent in. It’s hers. It’s her world, her culture—Adora can never be more than an onlooker to this part of her life. She tries not to dwell on how, with Catra’s permanent home now in Halfmoon, she’s never felt farther away from her.

She’s never felt like she didn’t have a place in Catra’s world until now.

Catra locks eyes with Adora as she passes. She waves, throws a smile in her direction. One of Catra’s friends notices and elbows her in the ribs.

“I didn’t know you had a _ girlfriend _, C’yra,” they tease her. “She’s too pretty for you.”

Catra snorts, but she says with a laugh, “Shut up, Farrin.”

Adora blinks, watching Catra’s party disappear somewhere into the hallway. C’yra. She’s heard the name before, but never heard Catra be called by it so willingly.

If it were just the one friend on just the one occasion calling Catra by a name Adora barely knows her by, she’d be able to let it go. But once her meeting turns to offering asylum for former Horde soldiers, of course Catra comes up again. Adora pipes up for the first time to offer her support against an older councilor’s insistence that former soldiers be tried for potential violations of international code. Catra had warned her about this councilor in particular—in Catra’s words, not a bad guy, just too territorial to have much sympathy for any outsiders.

“Most Horde members were there against their will,” Adora says. “It’s not fair to assume they wanted to fight for Hordak. Even the ones who thought they wanted to were brainwashed into it. I mean, look at Catra—” Adora stops herself. The councilor looks at her with a blank expression, and Adora’s chest tightens like she’s said something wrong. “C’yra. C’yra was a Horde soldier. I mean, she was _ the _Horde soldier. And now she’s one of your own.”

“C’yra’s already offered to head the relief effort,” a younger councilor offers. “I don’t see why we’re still debating this. You know she’ll keep her word on it.”

The older councilor shrugs. “I’m not doubting her ability. Halfmoon would still be a pile of rubble without her. As I’m sure She-Ra can tell you, I believe her to be more than capable.”

They vote on plans for asylum, and the meeting adjourns.

Adora stops outside Catra’s door on the way back to her room. She peers in the window. She sees Catra curled up on her couch, eyes closed and breathing even, and Adora mentally fills in the sound of her breath and the half-snore, half-purr she hums once asleep. She decides to take a lap. She drops off her files in her guest housing before waking Catra from her nap.

She frowns down at her meeting notes from where she sits perched on her bed. She’d written her morning and evening notes on the same pad—she’d stopped using Catra’s name at some point in reference to her and started putting C’yra in its place. She thinks about the crinkle of disgust in her nose when Catra had first been gifted the name, then thinks to earlier today as Farrin called her by it with no hesitation. Adora thinks on how at home Catra looked with her friends, how rare it was for Catra to have friends at all. She thinks of the councilors who had nothing but glowing things to say about her.

Adora should be proud—she _ is _proud. But to be proud of how Catra fits into her life in Halfmoon means to admit that it’s selfish to want her, that if Adora asks Catra to leave for Bright Moon with her, she’s repeating their history. She’s opening old wounds. She’s asking Catra to leave with her, tearing her away from somewhere she could really and truly belong, and she won’t ask Catra to sacrifice anything else for Adora’s sake. She can’t.

In the morning, Adora will leave. Catra will stay. There’s no way around it—it’s the way things have always been between them.

Adora doesn’t go to Catra’s room. She sleeps instead.


End file.
